Vestigial Traits or the Remains of the Once Great
by Soladwi
Summary: Bruce Wayne bides his time, waiting for the dark curtain to fall, performing every night as his last.


Vestigial trait. Something that remains in your genetic code, a structural defect that was once useful but no longer needed.

Bruce Wayne fought the urge to narrow his eyes in anger at the common criminal beneath him. With already reduced vision due to his cowl, as the Batman Bruce could easily conceive the pettiness required to surrender his sight for no reason other than to display his emotions, particularly when there was no audience.

Because it was for the audience that the Batman strived every night. It was for the audience that the Batman donned his bulking armor, darkened his eyes with kohl, and set off in his futuristic mobile. It was for the audience that every detail of the Batman's attire and appearance was set to intimidate.

In that way sometimes Bruce, while wrapped in bandages instead of Kevlar, imagined that the Batman shared similarities with the joker. Batman was supposed to intimidate, to be solid in an all too realistically frightening way. The joker was insubstantial, never there when you searched for him, always there when you didn't, intimidation in the mere suggestion of his presence.

But it was at this point that Bruce would sigh and shake his head, lift the damp cloth to his face and remove the last few traces of black paint, the last few traces of the Batman as the sun began to shine through his penthouse windows. It was then that finally, the Batman set his armor down for the night, not finished with his act but simply lying in wait, for his dark curtain to fall and for his character to once more be needed. For the time being optimistic Bruce could fill his days with characters of his own, the elite players, those putting on a show for no one else's benefit but their own.

Soon enough, Bruce knew, the Batman would reemerge with the night and Bruce would retire, both recognizing the futility of fighting him and the deep seated need of the city for the Batman, an agonizing cry that never ended. Never ended, but fluidly changed shape, sometimes every night.

Last night it was the vigilante, that watchful guardian who prevented the crime, who scared off the intruders and those who meant harm. The city moaned and begged for the anti-hero, the one you could always trust to be there in a desperate situation, in a part of town no respectful protagonist would find themselves in.

Tomorrow night it would be the fearsome predator, the overpowering intimidator that the city will call out for, the one whose very name alone causes deals to go sour, whose anger towards law-breakers and violence-makers manifests itself into violence in return, unrelenting until the last one falls. This was his most famous persona, the one the newspapers chatted about, the once Bruce often despaired about, worrying about his gradual evolution towards the Joker, towards a nameless, faceless enemy that was somehow more frightening then any other.

But tonight it was the Dark Knight that came to stage. Tonight he would arrive but a minute late, only to find the misshapen body of his latest imposter, his personal jester. Tonight he would spend precious time searching for an even more precious life, already lost, before chasing after those who would blame an aspiring artist, a wannabe actor. But this actor, this poor nine to five fool who thought he could do some good in the world, will remain one of the pitiful community-theatre aspiring, reaching for world-renowned popularity from beyond the grave [of course, even then he will not receive it].

Tonight the Batman will fail in every act. The reviews will come out in the morning, the critics will critique their stone hearts out, and the only tickets to his next performance sold will be to the greedy and malicious, poised in the wings for the moment when he falters, one final time. Tonight the Batman will go home, undress, and sink into bed, into a dark place where not even the rays of sun already stretching towards him like the hands of an adoring crowd will wake him.

Tomorrow morning Bruce will awaken, motivated even more so than usual, and casually glimpse at the newspaper as he dines on toast and eggs, orange juice and an apple, a complete full meal fit for the fit. He will just as casually fold the oversized pamphlet, set it aside, and dwell on it no longer for the day, laugh with his friends at the folly of the Batman, at his harmful and needless attempts at brutally installing order onto a rundown stage.

Today, Bruce will be Bruce, as he was yesterday, and the day before that, and the days before then for a very long time, each day from dawn to dusk when his audience rests their eyes, eagerly and sadistically awaiting the next performance.

Vestigial Trait: That which the species has evolved beyond, but still remains.


End file.
